


Tattoed

by Assbutt_sandwiches



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean/OC - Freeform, F/M, Mentions of Suicide, OC character - Freeform, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Winchesters as FBI, castiel - Freeform, supernatural fanfiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:52:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assbutt_sandwiches/pseuds/Assbutt_sandwiches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is this what you wanted?" the green-eyed hunter asked, jerking his chin at Lynn's wrist where the onyx numerals were imprinted. She stifled a sob, tears falling from her eyes, and hoarsely spoke. "It's what I needed." For each of them, the load is more than they can carry on their own. Grief, pain... But together, maybe it's not as hard as they thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Warning: Mentions of suicide, not gruesome though. Might be triggering for some people.  
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My feet hung limp from the ledge of the window, as I stared at the pale white bandage coating my previously bleeding arm, running from a few centimeters away from my elbow and into my palm. It was itching against the aiding material. I tugged at reddening bandage, threatening to peel it off, leaving the gash running from my wrist and into my palm exposed to the cold New York winds biting at my form, but resisted. Instead, I let my eyes travel from my pale legs, both exposed by my oversized hoodie whose hem stopped just at my pale and bruised thighs and onto the city scene, flickering over the bright and ambient colors of the busy streets and skyscrapers piled in front of my. I sighed nonchalantly and tucked my raven strands behind my ear, as I took in the colors of the Manhattan sky, watching as vehicles sped by my building on the strip of tarmac below my. I choked down another sob.

Tears brimming at my swollen and puffy eyes, I batted my lashes and soon warm streaks of salt travelled down my face, a tickling sensation rising in my nerves as the water from my eyes fell at the curve of my cheek. I rubbed my bandaged hand against my cheek and let out a silent moan as I continued to swing my legs, knocking loose crumbs of cement off the building wall and holding back the urge to scratch my bandages.

Through my five or so minutes of sulking- I wasn't really keeping count- and watching the occasional crude and uncultured New Yorker yell at another from down by the taxi cab park, I edged closer into the ledge and curled my knees into my form, kicking off the imaginary specks of dirt that resided at the soles of my feet, and pulled down the torn and frayed hem of my navy hoodie, With hesitation I once more lifted my hand, and this time gave into the desire as I picked at the bandage tucked away and begun to unravel the entire piece, slightly shaking as images of carnage and darkness filled my mind.

Finally, the bandage was off and I bunched it up in my healthy right hand before placing it at my side, now glaring at my scratched at and bruised arm. Tears pricked at my eyes as I stared at the imprints on my wrist, the digits surrounded by narrow and thin cuts and bruises.

It was 7 years back.

I was 17 and in my bedroom, headphones in and blaring music to shut out the outside world when I heard a thud. I brushed it off, obviously not bothered by the sudden noise and continued to sketch on my arms and legs with a sharpie, swirls and curves covering my body and marking my for another two weeks or so until they faded when another series of heavy knocks followed the previous sound, and murmurs were heard downstairs. Teenagers are curios beings, right? Of course I went downstairs to satisfy my need for information- only I shouldn't have.

Midway down the steps, my mother screamed. Her scream followed by an angry threat and my father's name thrown into the air, making me rush downstairs. I entered the kitchen and found my mother with a gun to her head, shaking uncontrollably with panic. The man behind the gun was my father's "workmate" Arnold. A debate on my mother's life was taking place as my father begged for forgiveness, trying to explain the remorse he had. It wasn't working.

My father was in debt with Arnold and his people for a while now and hadn't seemed to understand that deadline did contain an aspect of dead in it- in his sense. Roy-my now panicking father- was an accountant with a low paying job and an optimistic daughter hoping to go to law school in the near year- you can obviously see how those two can't mix. Call it stupidity or desperation- I can't see which- but Roy decided it was best to get a loan from Arnold. After all, we were a poor family. I was used to changing schools quite often as my family jumped from state to state, my father changing from firm to firm just to set dinner on the table. We'd occasionally ask relatives for assistance but the only blood we had left was Patricia's- my mother- sister redheaded June, who herself wasn't in the best economic state. Living in Jersey definitely wasn't easy.

And so when the bullet sounded and Patty fell limp onto the floor, it was marking the end of the line. Roy broke out and soon received a shot in the chest and I remained sobbing by the door. Both parents bleeding out on the floor, the next hour or so was me calling the police on Arnold after he fled and soon the paramedics arrived, tending to my parents and zipping them up in body bags. That marked the end of the night.

The next week was the burial, and I attended, after calling June in and the rest of the family. The service went on, tears here and there and an old grandmother sobbing into her knitted and embroidered hanky until finally the reverend brought the depressive and somewhat passive state of the evening to an end when he declared the service as closed. The bodies were lowered into the ground, me having to hold back tears, allowing my grey eyes to appear glass as I watched them pile soil onto the coffins and soon the burial itself came to an end- but I remained.

Shaking with trauma and regret, my shriveled up form stood in the dim light of the sun setting and glared at the freshly packed soil covering my parents now blue and buried bodies, my throat dry and trembling.

It was obvious, the pain.My eyes were a dull grey, almost as if dead and my short black hair up to my neck was thin and dull, obviously not meeting the bristles of a brush for sometime then. My fingernails were overgrown and chipped as I picked at the shining leather of my black clutch, trying to peel off some layers of the material but obviously failing.

I loved my parents; why'd they go so soon?

I reminisced on times when both bodies still breathed air and their times with me. The time Patty cut my hair with paper scissors in our grey tiled kitchen, leaving tufts of my black locks covering the floor, which we soon after swept; the time Roy and I had gone to the library to pick out text books for school but instead spent the evening in the fantasy section reading the Hobbit series till the sky turned a shade of purple and the smell of crisp book pages intoxicated my nine year old self. All these memories and more flooded my mind as I stood clad in a black trench coat protecting me from the wind, but the most prominent of those memories remained the one of the previous week.

The clatter of the bullet, the song ringing in my ears as I drew on my skin, the pool of crimson covering the grey tiles that once harbored the black hair of a twelve year old on one of my most joyous occasions,- they were all still fresh in my mind. I rolled up the sleeve of my coat and ran my fingers along the faded black curves coating my arm from the other night.

I would miss my parents.

Of course I spent more time in the presence of my folks until evening came. I perched a bouquet of orchids on both tombstones of my parents, and simpered. Orchids marked their wedding day, flourishing the entire ceremony and the smell of the flowers still strong in my lungs- it was only fair they marked their deaths.

After saying my goodbyes, I left, and the sun began to set, tinting the sky into the shade it was the evening I spent buried in stories of Bilbo Baggins with my father.

It pained me to see my parents go the way they did, even more so to know at the cost of wanting to aid their family, but to my slight elation I planned on joining them that evening. I had the pills in my bedside drawer and the water was obviously available in gallons, rendering my plan as successful.

I had nothing more to live for, and so as I walked home, I continued to reminisce on my life, knowing it would soon come to an end.

But of course I didn't do it.

Not that day at least. I couldn't, my parents had just been buried and so I decided the more appropriate hour would be one in the next day. The pills remained in my bedside drawer and I slept that night, thinking it would be my last and that I'd swallow the bottle of Xanax the next day.

But I didn't.

Not that day, not the next week as I planned, not the next month,- the orange tinted bottle of Xanax remained packed in the back of my drawer.

Instead my time was occupied by the case with Arnold. I attended the court case and my parents' murderer was sentenced 10 years imprisonment, which I believed was not a full punishment for the offence Arnold committed. But a few days went by, and after uncovering the other little murders he had gone through with, the state had decided it would be best to have him pay the death penalty five months from when he arrived so as to let him stew in his own juices for the time being. At the time I begun to believe that that was karma's way of having my back, but she never really favored me in life, and her first try wasn't going to stick the landing, leaving me still bitter about the death like any teenager would be, and as long as Arnie still had a pulse, I was set on staying that way.

Thursday the next week rolled around and I was in my bed, anxiety boiling in the pit of my stomach after I packed and labeled all the boxes with my belongings for my Aunt June to receive, and believed I would truly meet a reaper that night. I remained there for three more hours, nicking at the thread on my sweater and passing time with music before I came to the realization I wasn't going to do it- to end my life. Arnold was to be taken care of now that I had sealed the deal, and I had no grief and bitterness to hold onto anymore, so what was the point of putting a gun to my head? I did miss my parents, but everyone learned to live with grief, and so I was no special case, getting back under the covers and readying myself for the night.It wasn't until 2:00am, once I was passed out that he had come. Clad in a black tux with sparkling blue eyes and spiked black hair, his black wings revealed once thunder struck and the light from the storm exposed them. I was surprised and indeed frightened, but felt my stone cold body regain placidity when He made me an offer I thought was worth a try. Eight years and I could have vengeance. Of course I was frightened by the mysterious visitor in my bedroom that night, but once He revealed himself as Saul, I felt at ease- he was an angel. Well, a rogue angel, but server of heaven none the less. And so I accepted. Saul exchanged gratitude as did I, before leaving.

It was only a week later while grieving over a bowl of captain crunch that I had come to read the headlines in the paper stating that the prison Arnold was being held in had burnt down in a recent fire, only two days after he was thrown in and much earlier than his set day for execution. It was all in ashes when the fire-men reported to the rescue, 2 hours later, and only a few case files had been saved. I was stunned out of my wits when I realized that Saul was responsible for the fire, and worse, I was kind of responsible for deaths of all the others that night, ridden by guilt which soon faded though. I got what I wanted- Arnold was dead, and even though it was at the cost of tons of other lives, the job had been done. I tried to lie to myself I had no remorse for my actions because after all, they were all bad people cooped up in that jail, but trauma struck hard that day, and the following weeks were spent internally scolding myself for what I did.

Every night the thought haunted me that I was responsible for all those deaths, and each night i spent tossing and turning in my bed I told myself that it was just; to take those men's lives, to take Arnie's. I was young and, and suffering the death of my parents which was why I managed to squeeze out the guilt after a few weeks had gone by, but it was a tragedy none the less, and I held a heavy grudge against Saul, all of a sudden hating him for tricking me like that. I was furious, and tried to contact him a month after the fire, but he never replied up until a few weeks later when he came to collect his pay. Angels being the dicks they are, always do business in blood and pain- which is what the celestial caused me. It was a brief moment of stinging in my left wrist, and sooner than later, my digits were printed on my skin, marking that I had eight years left to live. 2920 days, those being the numerals on my skin. Of course I bargained, but it was pointless, the angel made up his mind and left.

Obviously scared, I contacted priests and pastors in my neighborhood, reporting the burden the angel had inflicted upon me, but the religious leaders passed it off as blasphemy when I referred to Saul in unholy manner. I struggled for two months, the numbers mysteriously fading into my skin as they dropped one lower each day, until it begun to bleed.

I'd go to bed at around 10:00pm and would wake up at midnight with an extremely irritating itch in my arm where the numerals were tattooed. This was followed by scratching the itch, but that wasn't the smartest move. Eventually, I had reached the point of scratching where I was bleeding and my skin was peeling. Horrifying scene, but I remained scratching until the itch stopped and the 6 on my 2616 numeral had turned to a 5, marking another day down.

Relieved I bandaged my wrist that night and went to bed with the reddening cloth secured around my injury until the next morning when I unwrapped it for cleaning and my skin was back to normal. I was surprised, but didn't look into it much- that was a stone I wasn't willing to un turn.

Throughout the week my skin remained in normal condition until the seven days run out and my Sunday night had played out again- blood and everything. This continued for a few more months until the molting was more frequent. Every two days the numbers on my skin would change and so would the state of my wrist- it went from pale white to bloody red in a few scratches.

Worried and full of fear, I would try to pray to Saul. I'd ask him for a refund and a solution to my shedding but the angel remained silent. This went on for weeks until finally I gave up. I'd wake up in the middle of the night every two days and bandage my wrist for the next morning. Soon enough, the skin stopped healing, and I'd remain with bluing bruises on my forearm along with cuts and scars. I had begun wearing an old tube sock on my forearm on a regular basis to deal with the residue of my metamorphosis, but even that was the least of my worries.

I'd wake up each day and the numbers would lower on top of the bleeding and after several fails with reading lore on how to fix my predicament, I fell into depression, another problem I'd have to deal with in life.

I figured if I was going to die in eight years, I might as well live my remaining life to the fullest, and so at 20 I moved to New York.

I failed with law school, and so my only source of income at the time was the role I played in a diner a few streets away from my apartment, as a waitress. It wasn't paid much, waiting tables, but it paid the bills. I wasn't happy with my life, but the numbers kept reminding me my time was almost over, and that was at least a bit consoling.

Of course having all these plagues on my shoulders, I did attempt my own suicide, but I failed. I woke up the next day, and the next, and the next until realizing the only way out was for my numbers to fade, and as I sat on the ledge of my apartment window, staring at the tattoo on my wrist , I realized I had only 360 days left.

The wind gushed against my exposed wrist, and a tear fell onto the black ink on my skin, as I rubbed a thumb over it. Craning my neck to glance at the wall clock in the living room, I shifted slightly, and soon a shiver ran down my spine as I watched the arrow strike midnight. Tears still falling from my eyes, I brushed a thumb across my wrist and the numeral faded into my skin, exposing a new, appearing to be a 9,

359 days.


	2. Details burried in the dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been a while since I update this fic, so I thought, why the hell not? Enjoy!

 

The skin at the back of Lynn's knee scraped against the crumbling structure of the window seal outside her apartment as she shuffled around, trying to get back inside the open space living room but the narrow space provided faltering her attempts. She wormed around, praying to not miss a step and plummet to the busy streets of Manhattan lively running beneath her and luckily succeeded as she stretched a leg into the building, placing it on a nearby desk and hauling her form in. A sigh of relief escaped her throat as she struggled through the poorly adjusted setting and placed her feet on the cold floor, the impact of her soles onto the white tile making her shudder.

Lynn craned her neck to glance at the ticking clock strung on a thin piece of black thread balancing the contraption on the wall. Dreadfully the black haired girl scoffed at the time, the narrow black arrows of plastic radiating a tone of mockery her direction and watched as the pasty white circle hung on the dim lit navy walls littered with photo frames across the surface and tried to regain placidity and slow her heart rate. Lynn felt as though her skin was stretched too tight over her body and bit down the urge to scream and flail in aggravation, instead stewing in the biting tingle in her wrist as tears welled up in her eyes. Her knees wobbled beneath her as she remained by the open window letting in the chilling New York air before they gave out, allowing her mass to fall limp onto the floor with a thud, the thin skin on her thighs surely to be bruised by morning. She bunched up the hem of her old and rustic jumper weakly, hoping that the pressure she exerted on the piece of cloth would somewhat soother her panicking and hectic state as trails of chills strung down her cheeks from the tears rolling to the curve of her jaw.

Lynn's sight was blurry as she glared at the numbers on her wrist dreadfully, taking in the curves and crevices imprinted on the blue and red tape-textured skin. She had gotten better at controlling the physical pain she endured for the past years and sooner than later the numerals would fade into her body rather than her having to etch them off. Despite the noted progress, the entire situation would play out somewhat bloodily from time to time and tonight was listed as one of those nights.

Lynn brought her feet closer to her body and curled her toes. She could hear her blood in her head as she sat perched by her open window, contending to hold down the sobs slipping through her chapped lips but failing. Her cries filled the otherwise silent room for a few minutes.

The night bloomed faster as the stars disappeared into the curtain of darkness known as the sky, morning drawing nearer. Lynn was still sat in the same position as was an hour behind and the same thoughts of anger surged through her veins. She was used to the pain by now, but still as she picked at the pieces of lint on her pajamas, tossing the tufts to the floor each time she peeled it off her attire and  felt a deep emptiness in her chest. More often than not the entire process of shedding had no major effect on her, but tonight she was just having one of her lows,- the kind where she more than hoped to pass out and wake up to her landlord knocking at her door, declaring how he would soon be evicting her, but she settled for less.

It wasn't out of character for her to experience a period of melancholy taken her days _were_ numbered, but nonetheless, she wasn't used to the bites of her mind nicking at the back of her brain. She wanted nothing more than to reach her tweezer-like fingers at the back of her skull and scratch the tickling itch she felt.

Lynn's chest felt tight along with other aspects of her usual panic attacks and although she felt all her emotions bunched up in one cluster sat in the centre of her chest, she felt an aspect of emptiness. She dreaded this feeling and the thoughts accompanied by her episodes.

But they were a side-effect of her condition.

The clock finally struck 4:00am and to Lynn that meant only three hours of sleep before she was to be hauled out of bed to prepare for her shift at the diner down the street, a little room nestled on the ground floor of the recently renovated building just at the curb by her apartment. The pay wasn't the highest amount, nevertheless it wasn't scraps and she could settle for it as long as it paid the bills. She stood firmly on the soles of her feet, stretching and craning her limbs and sorts as she made her way for the bedroom a few steps away. Her bare feet padded against the chilled tiles and she tried her best not to knock over any vases hidden in the dim lit setting of her living room and finally made a turn into the corridor just ahead of her kitchen. Her eyes scanned through the darkness and finally fell on the bathroom door at her side. The simple wooden door coated in paint the same color as the hairs on her head was open a crack, a sliver of light peering through the narrow passage and in front of the frail girl shivering with sleep was the closet door bust open and revealing a collection of plaid shirts, leather jackets, jeans and un-matching socks stuffed in a few pairs of boots at the foot of the space. Lynn dragged a tired hand across her sticky face and shuffled her feet in the direction of the bathroom, thrusting the door open with her healthy hand and flinching at the sudden burst of light invading her sight as she made for the sink.

Eyes adjusting to the new ambiance setting, she turned the knob on the sink, rejoicing inwardly at the gush of water that came from the mouth of the pipe and her hand broke the trail of liquid as she cupped some in her palms. She washed her face, blunt fingernails grazing the thin tape of skin and spreading the cold water from her forehead and onto the apples of her cheeks. Her hips occasionally bumped into the ceramic bowl of the sink as she bent forward to get more water on her face, and spat into the drain once she was done, reaching for a nearby towel. She patted her skin dry and tossed it on the nearby shelf after which she rinsed her mouth out with a handful of water and turned the tap off before, shutting the creaky door of the closet on her way to her room.Fianlly, she stepped into the dark room and collapsed on her bed. Lynn pulled the covers over, swaddling herself and felt her mind drift as she begun to snooze softly, silent snores escaping her throat from time to time.

The next morning, dusk peering in with a heavy breeze and gush of wind, Lynn cracked her eyes open, taking in the bright ambiance of the morning shining through the passages of the thick burgundy curtains strung above the window and yawning as she sat up. She ran a hand through her knotted cluster of hair sat on her head and glanced at her the digital clock sat on her bedside table. The flickering red digits signaled that it was 6:50 and she scratched at the itch at the nape of her neck. Today Lynn was working the day shift at the diner running from 10:00 to 4:40 but seeing as she had errands to run prior work, she untangled her limbs from the mangled sheets piled on her bed and placed her feet on the ground, shivering softly from the cold tile rubbing their soles.

 

She dragged herself around her familiar navy walled room and embraced the environment, absorbing each breath she took in her bedroom before pushing the door open and footing to the bathroom where she relieved herself, washed off and returned to the previous room to get dressed. A mustard flannel mixed in with threads of black was thrown on top of a black tank top and she paired the attire with her regular blue jeans. Of course a red and black tube sock was to be fitted on her left arm and she did so, folding it so as her bruises were hidden. No makeup seeing as she wasn't planning on impressing anyone at work anyway- excluding the attractive architect who came in every Monday for his morning cup of coffee, but the day was a chilly Friday meaning Lynn had no desire to apply extra powder to her nose so as to say. She buttoned up a button just below her navel and soon found herself walking out the door once more, stopping in her tracks to return to her dresser for a pair of earrings. She pinched the studs into their situated spots on her earlobes and was out the door and into the kitchen. There in the dark room she flicked the switch by her fridge on, producing a sheer blanket of light before walking over to the coffee pot by the window and brewing a batch. As she waited for the spout of the kettle to begin screeching she perused through the paper, scoffing at the titles mentioning the government and tax invasion of citizens- politics wasn't Lynn's forte.

She folded the collection of papers together once the familiar pitch of the kettle sounded and got out a cup from the cabinet by her in which she poured the steaming drink. She grabbed the utensil by its handle and made her way into the living room, her bare feet producing a slapping sound as she walked and fell back into the warm and welcoming cushions of her couch, its softness engulfing her as she continued to sip on the cup of Jo in her hands. Occasionally she nicked at the dish in which it was served due to her sudden interest and intrigue peeked. It was nothing more than an obscure and plain mug; painted in lime green with lines and threads of mustard that were thin as hairs wrapping around its circumference. It was shaped like a pot for a plant, broad and wide enough to sprout a small succulent and the handle fit almost four of Lynn's fingers as she carded them around it. But yet this plain piece of clay put her into some sort of lazy trance. It was most likely due to her sleep deprivation of the previous night that she was enchanted by the mug or maybe simply because she enjoyed noting the detail and effort presented in the little fixtures she could get her clammy hands on- the answer was vague, unknown to her futile and premature comprehension and was drowned out instead by the caffeine setting into her system, now making her somewhat more awake. Soon Lynn returned to the kitchen where she downed the pot of coffee she brewed and drank it black, forgetting the tingle in her wrist and her disgust towards the political sate of her country; all these topics were redundant and irrelevant to the brunet as she tossed the cup that once fascinated her sight in the sink and prepared to leave for work, fidgeting with the cut tube sock encircling her forearm and buckling the seals on her boots before exiting the apartment.

The clouds swam in a dark gray canopy above Lynn's head, and she couldn't help but hope for a storm today seeing as they just brought a sense of comfort to her; she loved snuggling in bed for a nap with thunder and wind as her lullaby, but that was all she could hope for.

 She wormed her way through the crowds forming at the roadside awaiting the traffic lights to signal for them to cross as she squirmed amongst the dozens of people, receiving an elbow to her side from time to time. Finally the little person displayed on the street stand flickered green and the mass moved forward, the members heading in different directions as did Lynn, finding the diner just a block down and jogging across the traffic and to the door of the building. Jimmying her keys into the hole, she turned the piece of metal and the lock popped open, allowing her to enter the dark room of the diner and flick the lights on. She scurried past the wooden tables all lined with napkins and condiments and past the counter, into the kitchen where she plopped her satchel down beneath a cabinet before starting up the place. The thermostat was turned on seeing as Lynn didn't enjoy running her early morning shift with her temperature dropping and dried off the dishes stacked by sink, going on with fixing up the place; setting up cutlery, providing salt shakers to all tables and so forth.

After tending to the décor of the room, Lynn went through her usual routine of tying her navy apron round her waist, sitting at the counter, and awaiting her co-worker Brady. Brady was a college graduate attempting to make some money while staying with his sister in town by working full time at the diner. He and Lynn had had their first encounter on her first day of work a year back when she reported forty minutes late barely put together and found the dark haired boy chuckling at a comic in the paper before asking for his assistance. Granted he was quite rowdy from what she knew of him, she kept her distance, but from the boring evening shifts spent flicking cashew nuts into each other's mouths from across the counter their friendship grew. And after all, Lynn was dying, intoxicated by thoughts of her enigma of a state and the events of her life, she needed a friend- Brady was always one she could call in the middle of her common crisis.

The clock ticked by as Lynn sat rolling and folding the hem of her apron between her fingers and occasionally rolling up the sock round her wrist to get a sneak peak of her bruises. Not wanting to bare the pain of working till evening due to her inactivity- her boss Carl was kind of a douche- she got to work, starting with heating up some coffee as that was the most served drink here at work. Then she wiped up the counter tops, checked the cash register and returned to her spot by the tip jar where she attempted the crossword puzzle of that morning, a small feeling of content brewing in her gut.

 This was the part of her morning Lynn actually didn't dread because she enjoyed filling the blank boxes printed in the Thursday paper, like she did every day she worked at the diner. It eventually became taboo for her not to do the crosswords of the day only because no one else took interest in them but her. Brady would occasionally poke fun at Lynn for this little quirk she had, but when your time is limited, these are the things you take note of; the little things.

No sooner had Lynn propped herself up on a stool behind the counter, already excited for the challenging of her vocabulary than the front door of the café swung open and in strode none other than Brady, clad in a leather jacket and with his deep brown hair spiked routinely. He wore a lazy and almost fading grin as he hung up a mucky and dripping trench coat in the kitchen- late September rains- and maneuvered his way to the front counter where Lynn sat with the paper in her hands, though her attention was now on Brady.

"And what is a fine bird like you doing here so early?" he smiled childishly, resting a stubbly chin on his hand in front of her. Lynn let out a scoff like a laugh and shook her head. Obviously not fazed by his usual though not serious attempts at flirting, she now focused on the black and white checkers in front of her.


	3. Bringing back the past

**Lynn's P.O.V:**

**\------**

Brady howled with laughter, swinging an arm over my shoulder and nuzzling his nose into my hair, the smell of apricot probably suffocating him as he placed a brief kiss on the top of my head an pulled away, grinning like a child. I let out an airy chuckle and the hazel eyed cashier took a step back, his trenchcoat dancing around his knees ever so softly . I could tell by his firm and warm greeting that today, Brady was in a good mood. His hazel eyes were bright like embers of fire, burning each time he flashed a smile, and his shoulders shook faintly as he bowed his head with a smile. We always greeted each other with a pat on the shoulder or a bear hug, but never a kiss on the cheek, forehead, or the like- only on special occasions would we exchange such affection, but today, Brady decided to breakdown that wall and smother me with love. It wasn't something I didn't enjoy, but my suspicion was raised when my co-worker acted the way he did. I cocked an eyebrow at him as a smirk began to play on my lips, tugging at the corners.

"Well aren't you chipper this morning? Level up your rogue in World of Warcraft or was it something even more exciting than virtual medieval kingdoms?" I teased as I hoped off the stool I was sat on and begun walking into the kitchen, Brady following suit with a chuckle falling from his lips. He ran a hand over his face briskly, and let it fall to his side when I reached the sink and began washing my hands- never a good idea to juggle a cup of hot coffee in your hands along with newspapers and coaster for tables.

"Ah, Lynn. Always with the courtesy I see?" He smirked, walking up to me and leaned against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. I briefly glanced his way and continued to rub between my fingers as he went on.

"Can't I be happy without being assumed to have been on the internet all night?" He feigned hurt in a desperate voice and I scoffed in return.

" Please. The only things that make you happy are women and living online. I can only assume you brought those together and spent the night watching porn?" I replied. Brady clicked his teeth and widened his eyes as he stared at the floor, almost as if guilty for what I stated.

"You're the embodiment of pessimism,"

Of course my choice of words were false. Brady was one of the most happy and content people I knew throughout my entire life and I was grateful for even knowing the guy as if I had to choose one person to rely on, he was it. The mere being around him raised my mood and each time he cracked a joke with a wiggle of his eyebrows, attempting to earn a round of cheers or told a God-awful pun that usually just got him a bunch of moans and groans of frustration, i couldn't help but snicker along. That's kind of how we became friends really. We were kindred spirits bound to form a friendship, and as soon as I caught a glimpse of Brad's vibrant personality as opposed to the usual craptastic boring cashier personality, I couldn't help but add him to my very narrow and almost empty list of friends- honestly speaking, he was probably the only one on it.

Behind his sardonic and more often than not cocky personality, lay a heart of pure gold one would never expect to see. After one conversation, you'd think his ego was bigger than his interest in even talking to you, but after spending more time around him and speaking to him more than you wished, Brady would loosen up and invite you to his apartment to play videogames or watch Grand hotel Budapest for the 100th time- or at least that's how he treated me.

It was a friendship that built on it's own, and because of mine and Brady's constant interactions, we found ourselves having one of the closest and most profound bonds; the kind that make you believe friends are more family than blood. He was always there for me and I was always there for him, being sure not to leave the other alone- we both had enough of that in our lives. After all, I wasn't the only one with and impending doom hovering over my head like a halo, as Brady too was troubled.

He was an orphan just like myself, and grew up in this state to this day. His parents were a fireman and a barista staying in Iowa before they passed, and Brad was only 16. Much like myself, his parents weren't the most financial fit, and much like my father, his father would work graveyard shifts and fight tooth and nail to put a decent meal on the table. We both weren't poverty-stricken exactly, but getting by was a struggle- we started school about two weeks into the term because of fees and we had to pack yesterday's leftovers for lunch instead spending a few dollars at the vending machine.

When he was about 11, his family struck gold, and money started spilling in through the pipes.It was sudden, and Brady was no doubt skeptical about it, but in the state that he was, he accepted the gift without question. To him, it was like being stuck in a snowstorm and the only options you have are to stay out and freeze to death, or run into the lively warm mansion just a few blocks ahead- only there's a human butcher sat inside that you don't meet until you reach the upstairs bedroom. Sadly, he chose the latter. He begun going to pristine snooty rich kid schools, his mother got an entire new wardrobe and Daddy bought a new care: life was going well. But eventually when he turned 15, after climbing the steps of the house, he reached the door of the butcher's bedroom, and his father passed away at the hands of a hellhound tearing his chest open in front of both Brady and his mother's eyes. It scarred him for life, and a few months later, his mother crashed into another car on a drunken night on her way home from drowning her sorrows in alcohol.

It took him some time to open up, but one night filled with booze and marathoning How I Met Your Mother lead to both of us spitting out secrets about the supernatural which we each were surprised to hear. Not because they sounded like something out of a book or TV show canceled on NBC, but because we couldn't believe that someone else was feeling the same way we did- cheated, betrayed and grateful someone at least believed us. And so from there, as if my friendship with him wasn't already strong enough, it grew, and he came to be the brother I never had and didn't know I even wanted. As if I wasn't already coming to terms with my inevitable fate, being around Brady made me more accepting of the situation. I continued on with life like my clock wasn't ticking. Got a job, bought an apartment, and reveled in each moment I could breath air because after all, it was unchangable. The angel was gone and I wasn't even sure whether he was alive or not- for all I knew he could've been dead, and the bargain he placed on my soul sealed away with the rest.

It took months for me to be content or rather tolerant of my predicament, but it did come to pass: I was happy now. Life was no longer seen through black and white film rather a more vibrant and colourful one, and I dealt with it. I dealt with the itching and burning and occasional bleeding that came with the numerals on my wrist, and curtained it behind the lie of having a chronic disease bound to kill me within the next few years when people asked.

The only problem was lying to myself sometimes. Even when I believed I was having an utterly good day, returning home with a sore back from work and plopping into bed to falls asleep, I couldn't. Thoughts ran free in my mind that made me question my very existence, and more often than not, I wondered where this path I was on would lead me? And how would it happen? Would the angel come and reap my soul, making me endure a painful and bloody process of extraction, or would it be a numb and painless feeling? How would they find my body, and who would? I'd be damned if it was Brady to find me torn to shreds in my apartment, and because of these ideas I spent some nights tossing and turning in bed, eyelids falling shut only when the sun would peer in through the windows.

Aside from these nights though, I was happy with life. I finally found peace of mind. Or maybe I was just telling myself that- it didn't really matter, and I decided that whether or not my days went by faster and faster, I was at least tolerant of my life, and ready for death when it was to come, paying no more attention to that.

I learnt to condone it.

"I can't believe you'd say that about me. I'm like the Jimmy Fallon of our lives- hopped up on adrenaline and joy," Brady spoke with an incredulous smirk, as I turned the rusty knob of the tap and the water stopped running. I patted down my hands on the thighs of my Jeans, dragging them up and down the fabric before letting out a laugh at his response.

"Hah, nice try sweetheart, but'cha ain't foolin' anybody," my voice was sardonic to the very last bit, as I savored poking fun at Brady, until his voice filled the air in defense as we both returned to the counter, checking the clock to see when customers would begin flooding in- we had about 30 minutes or so before it struck 9:00.

"Alright, alright," he gestured with his hands as I took a seat on my stool, smirking at him with amusement. He leaned onto his elbows across me on the opposite side of the counter, and his grin grew brighter as he spoke.

"I had a date," He smiled with a wiggle of his eyebrows teasingly and my mouth dropped open in surprise, the corners curling upwards into a similar smile.

"No way! With who? Is it that Anna girl with the red hair from down the street?" I cocked an eyebrow as I asked. "Or is it Delilah? Or maybe it's a girl I don't know?"

"Actually no, you don't know her. She works down at Mclainne's as the bartender, " Brady smirked.

"You mean the one with the black hair?" I asked with confusion and he snapped his fingers in response.

"Yes! Kaitlyn" he begun," isn't she a sight for sore eyes," his gaze drifted to the ceiling as he gawked and I rolled my eyes in response. Give him a week or two and this girl would be the past, but until then, I let Brady have his moment.

"So what's this girl like?" I asked and his attention was reverted back onto me.

"Amazing Lynz, just spectacular," he beamed and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his antics. I pulled the newspaper at my side in front of me and began to peruse through as Brady continued speaking in the back.

"She's smart, sarcastic, has great taste in music- and men," he winked, and I scoff laughed.

"Well if she's going out with you I wouldn't be so sure, handsome"

"Well I beg to differ. This girl is just out of the park perfect. She's funny too," Brady stopped in his tracks to crease his brow before continuing, "she's like you. Except way hotter and not as big of an ass,".

"Aren't you just charming?" I rolled my eyes and he laughed in response as I continued flipping through the paper, tempted to carry on with the crossword but instead tending to my conversation with Brady

"So what about you?" he suddenly asked and my eyes shot up to his face, brow knitted in confusion.

"What about me?" I asked with expectant eyes. I folded up the paper once more and rested my elbow on top of it.

"You've been out of the game long enough, don't you think it's time to jump right back in? You know? Go out, meet some guys, maybe put yourself out there a bit more?" He replied.

"No thanks. I've tasted the fruit from that tree and am not going back,".

"Why?" he pressed and my attention returned to him. I opened my mouth to speak, fumbling over my tongue but couldn't find the words to speak as if I had no answer, but I did, I just didn't want to say it.

My mouth remained open, searching for words as I tried to speak but Brad cut me off, his tone now serious as he grabbed my wrist and pulled up my glove. I let out a gasp at the sudden action but quickly shut my mouth as the brunette observed the numbers on my wrist.

"Is it because of your little tattoo?" He raised an eyebrow and I scoffed in return, pulling my arm away and tucking the glove over my forearm.

"No," I enunciated with frustration, "it's not that. I just,..." I tried to form a sentence that would get Brady off my case, but there was no point- I myself knew he answered his own question and anything said would be pointless.

I huffed in defeat and let my eyes close for a brief moment as my arms dropped to my side and dangled in place, my shame showing through my act. I opened them right away and with a sad brow, continued.

"It's just that I see no point in getting attached to something that's not even going to make it into next summer- you know that," I replied as I twiddled absently with my thumbs.

Brady sighed and traced his jaw, mouth ajar slightly as he pondered. He then turned to me, and spoke.

"Lynn," he groaned, " I thought we talked about this,"

"No, you talked, I listened," I responded and just as Brady was about to go on, I cut him off, sending him a glare of warning.

"Now it's my turn to talk," I diverted my gaze to my thumbs for a brief moment and allowed myself to breath heavily, clearing my mind as I prepped myself for what I was about to say.

"I'm not as optimistic as you, Brad. You see your life into next year, but I don't. My life comes to an end this year and as much as I want to believe that we'll cross that bridge when we get there," I laughed dryly, shaking my head as I gazed into Brady's sad eyes, "I'm done my friend. Nothing you can do is going to pull my back up to even stagger to the bridge cause I'm already dangling off the ledge." I finished with my expression already saddened like Brady's, knowing the words that had come out of me had upset me. How couldn't they? After all, he was the one trying to save my bacon in this whole mess, and telling him his efforts were pointless must've hit hard.

Brady shook his head in disbelief as he eyed me, before his brow which was once knitted in sorrow twisted into one of anger, and his eyes burned.

"No," he clenched his jaw, "you don't get to just 'dangle off the bridge' this time, okay? I won't let you give up so easily. I mean c'mon Lynn, I know you don't mean that," he exclaimed and the irritation this entire topic caused me seemed to pour out immediately.

"Yeah? How can you be so sure, Brad? For someone who's my bestfriend, you don't seem to understand me so well."

"Nah, I know you don't mean it," he grimaced.

"And how is that?"

"i know because if all that crap you just said were true,- if you meant it- you wouldn't have even considered a friendship with me," He stated almost triumphantly and I snorted in denial, despite my own mind putting into consideration what he was saying.

He could've been right. Afterall, if my mind was truly willing to give up, why would I bother attaching myself to Brady the way i did, knowing by the end of next spring I'd leave him. I bit my lip as my mind raced, but I couldn't let him change my mind now; I was ready to die, and so I let my stubbornness get the better of me, and continued to argue with him.

"Well people change over time," I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, not so much you, Deren" he huffed just before the bell on the door chimed, and in strode two men clad in suits and trench coats hanging below their knees. One was shorter than the other, with almost emerald green eyes and spiked golden hair, where as the other who seemed the height of a titan had hair to his shoulders, tucked behind his ears and only a few strands falling out of place. I quickly glanced at the door as they stepped in and my eyes lingered on both of them, observing them before they shot to the clock. I realized it was already twelve past nine, and by now the diner was supposed to be open for business.

Brady and I both exchanged bitter glares before he left into the kitchen, most likely prepping himself for the day and I remained to tend to our two new customers who were approaching me at the counter. I straightened out my apron hung around my waist and leaned onto the counter ,arms outstretched with palms flat on the surface.

"Hi, what can I do for you?" I smiled politely and the two men responded with a nod of the head and a brief tug of the lips before they returned to their no nonsense expressions.

"Agents Miller and Collins," the shorter of the men spoke with a gruff and husky voice as they pulled out their badges and briefly flashed them in front of me.

"We're here investigating a case on the death of Arnold Morris back in '05, along with the string of deaths in the past 3 months in this area,".....

********************

**Tadaaaaa!! Well hasn't it been a while, ey? What do you guys think of this chapter? I've been meaning to write this for a while now and I just recently got to it. Sorry it's been long, but at least our boys are finally here, right?**

**So feel free to comment, vote and follow this story as it would mean alot to me, and also to tell me what you thought of the chapter? Do you guys like this story so far?**   
**Thanks for reading, have a nice day.**


	4. Trackers

_*Two Days Before*_  
\---------------------------------  


The bunker was filled with thick dead silence as the wind whisked through the hallways gracefully, bringing on a chill with its movements, and the dull tawny light of one of the library reading lamps  illuminated the space where Dean sat with his back to the entrance of the room, face buried in a book. _Heptameron ('Seven Days'),_ one of the many books that had been sitting in a box on the top shelf for months, undiscovered until the Elder Winchester knocked it over while cleaning a few days back. Dean had seemed to have found the stash of the Men of Letters books which they had never taken a look at, and thought it useful to finally crack one open and see what it was they were missing out on all this time, hoping there would be even the tiniest lead on the case they were hunting.

Dean lightly drummed his fingers on the table as he stared down intently at the book, trying to find a clue on what he and Sam were even hunting when the younger Winchester ambled his way into the room, approaching the table where his brother was sat.

"I just got off the phone with Cas." Sam announced, dragging out one of the chairs from under the table and taking a seat, "He says that while he couldn't find that many leads on this case, he did come across something last night."

Dean's eyes flew to his brother as he shut the book. He pushed it in front a little and leaning back into his chair heavily,  knitted his brow befuddled.

"What is it?" asked the elder Winchester, tilting his head to the side subtly. Sam sighed, and waiting a few seconds leaned forward onto his elbows, a grim expression dawning on his face.

"He said he couldn't find any relations between the vics down at the morgue this morning..All different social status and life descriptions, only thing tying them together being some markings on their bodies', but they don't all even match.."He paused when Dean groaned aggitatedly and smacked his hand to the side of his face.

"Great."he grunted, rubbing his finger against his temples in a circular manner. He was hoping at lest Castiel would be a source of information, but with his attempts in vain, Sam and Him were no farther than the 126 page of the book.

"But,..."Sam begun cautiously, and Dean's rotating fingers came to a halt when he looked up at his brother. His head was still tilted down as he glared at Sammy intently.

"But?" he cocked an eyebrow, fingers twitching in mid air to return to the surface of his skin.

"But, he did find _some_ sort of a lead- at least he thinks he did." Sam let out a heavy sigh, and leaning back in his chair, said "He says that he's been digging up some dirt on all the victims in the past days to try and get us somewhere, so he's been visiting the remains of all their houses."

Dean remained with his chin tucked into his neck, pondering what the situation meant before lifting it up and sitting upright, a quizzical scowl playing on his face.

"He said everything seemed subjectively-normal about the places, except the fact that almost every house he went to had a lingering aroma of burnt plants in one room each: all except Kailey Beal's, and Timothy's."

"So like yarrow? Do you think we're dealing with a witch?" Dean asked, eyebrows cocked and knitted.

"He didn't say what exactly, but he said it smelled something like..."pausing for a moment, he drew the word out unsurely, " _Pot."_

 _"P-pot?"_ Dean asked incredulously, surprised by his brother's response and Castiel's knowledge of local drugs.

"Uh, yeah. I don't know how Cas even knows that, but all I know is he said that areas- often by exists like the windows or doors- smelled of Marijuana." Sam shrugged, staring at his brother who was slowly tracing his fingers along the edge of the book.

"How many houses has he been to?" asked the elder Winchester

"So far four- whatever's left of them. Tim Mason's house down in Pennsylvania as well as the Sterlings' about an hour away, Levron's on Tuesday and Kailey Beal's just yesterday. Visited for just a few minutes before he left."Sam replied.

"Why did he leave?" asked Dean.

"Didn't say. He only mentioned the weird aromas, before bringing up the guy from last week."

Dean bit down on his lip and sighed, relieved they had gotten another lead. A small one, but a lead nonetheless. He didn't have time to wonder about Cas' reported pot-smell though at his brother's last words.

Working this case had been running for about two weeks for the boys, with Castiel and some other hunters in the area being their information sources and Garth on the lookout for anything fishy whilst the Winchesters dug into the books and scouted out the towns nearby. It all started a while back when Dean was having his morning cup of joe reading the paper and came across an article talking about the death of a young art-grad somewhere in Seattle the previous night. She had been found dead in her apartment by the landlord when he arrived at her place that morning and immediately called the police upon seeing young Tracy Ole'man's burnt corpse splayed out on her bedroom floor. Dean had read that Mr Skeener- the Landlord of the flat Tracy lived in- was coming to pick up the long overdue rent the art student had promised him when he last came over the previous month. He stated how Tracy was no stranger to not answering her door when the 28th rolled up and the bills needed paying, or even picking up the phone when Bart tried to call her. Ever since she had moved into the run-down building six months prior to her death, she was known as the 'flat rat' by majority of the inhabitants, fleeting from paying rent, or pitching in some money to fix the residential heater that worked on the shower water when asked by her flatmates. When Dean read this, he felt a pang of pity towards Tracy himself knowing the struggle of a tragedous youth like she had. Her mother died in a car accident on her way from the airport when returning from Oslo while visiting her sister. She and Tracy's father never had the perfect marriage, so constant trips away from home to escape her drunk of a husband were nothing special. The apparent accident was in late November, and with the roads being ice-slicked around that time, the car flew right off the highway and into a nearby bush, leaving all passengers dead. Having found out her mother died the next day, Tracy was left to be raised by her father who constantly mistreated her, leading her to Maine to study. She barely made it there though, but that all changed about a month back as Mr. Skeener stated. He claimed that she had finally "turned her life around" and "got all her ducks in a row" and was no longer a hot mess, now paying the rent in time and looking well-off physically rather than her zombie-described appearance from all the weight of her life, but it was all cut off when she passed away. Apparently her bedside lamp tipped over onto the rug and started a fire. It spread onto her mosquito net and she burnt to death.

When Dean read the article, his instinctive reaction was analyzing whether it was a case or not, and whether he and Sam were to take it up considering how free they were, but he quickly diminished it almost the second the idea popped into his head, thinking it just another depressing regular in the obituaries. Being a hunter, Dean knew that grief was all around. There were tons of people he and Sammy had dealt with in similar situations, and in the cases something went wrong and they didn't make it, it would hurt. But it was a part of life, and the more the boys faced it over the years with all the hunts and cases they had been on, they learned to move past it. Immediately after reading about Tracy Ole'man, Dean checked on the sports, noted the winning scores and shut the paper, carrying on with his activities for that day, not thinking much of the story. It went on like that for a few more days with the boys not thinking much of Tracy's death and it's relation to the supernatural, but that wasn't until a few days later when more bodies started to pile up.

The tabloids were filled with stories on the deaths happening one after the other for the past two weeks, and the state's common belief it was some freak epidemic spreading throughout New York and neighboring cities. This came to the knowledge of the Winchesters the night they were catching up on the FA league Dean had even keeping tabs on for that month when half time came on, and there had been another reported death on the news. What peeked the Winchesters' interest was that the deaths occurring between intervals of three days happened merely a few miles out Tracy's neighborhood and that both incidents bore no witnesses when they happened in averagely populated areas. The first victim was a bartender named Stewart Tolek who too was found dead in his house as well as the second Kailey who like Tracy was finishing her senior year of college. Once the broadcast was streamed, Dean immediately thought back to the sad story from last week of the "flat rat" out in Seattle and her relation to the new corpses, making him and Sam begin looking into these deaths, finding that there actually was a case here. After all, what are the chances of three people of about the same age group all dying in the same week and their bodies being discovered in their crowded homes but yet without any witnesses? It wasn't until the next week, with Sam and Dean digging into the case that they had come up to the surprising realization that all victims had experienced similar major life changes as Tracy did before her death. About three weeks earlier, Stew had come up with the money to pay off his wife's alimony  after being jobless for six months and working the taps in a local bar which was known for its ramshackled and beat down state, although still selling, and Kailey had just managed to file and win her first case in court concerning a man who's bees on a local farm had been reportedly stinging the nearby children and was being sued by the parents, earning big money two months before death after a year period of dealing with narcotic addiction and living off stolen bread crumbs and stale beer she'd get every evening at the bar a few streets away from her apartment.  The rest of the victims that died in the following weeks all fit the memo of "street rats" and some reportedly unknowns up until a few weeks before their deaths. The boys wondered why the cases weren't bigger and more out there, with people trying to get involved to stop of the trail of deaths figure out the cause of it, thinking it was all so ordinary, but realized soon that it was because they were seen as insignificant when eventually the obituaries stopped being streamed. In the end, what were a few almost homeless bartenders, and barely self sustainable kids struggling to get by to the community other than scum street rats?

Sam and Dean decided to stick to their rolls in the whole situation while Deaths continued occurring, the lack of any leads utterly agitating. A few days went by and finally a lead came up at the morgue when Sam and Dean went to examine the bodies which had been collecting over the course of the weeks. Whilst speaking to the doctor that day, Dean had come to learn that the first five bodies that had been sent in for postmortem had been cleared and shipped our to the families of the deceased for the funerals before both Winchesters could get to them. As soon as they heard this, the boys called up all the hunters they could get their hands on to know if anyone had been tracking the case, getting Jody and Garth involved, but no-one had reported even being to Manhattan, and when Sam and Dean heard of this, they called up Castiel for more help, hoping that with him at their side, the following days would be more successful, and to their favor they were when the deaths begun going down slowly by slowly, the intervals of days growing bigger until it was radio silent, and there were no more reported deaths for another three weeks. In that time, finding it needful to stay alert and make sure that the deaths would stop permanently, Sam and Dean sought out to find who it was that had been trying to cover up the deaths in the past month and particualrly _why_   they did it. It wasn't until the previous week that they had come up with something upon digging up old case files in the local bureaus. 

As Dean interrogated some suspects they brought in, Sam had been rummaging through the documents in the sheriff's front desk when he had come across and old case file from a few years back, one about Arnold Morris, a businessmen arrested after a  murder of a couple in their home, and sentenced to execution five months from his trial after uncovering a ton of other underground deaths. At first glance, the younger Winchester thought it to be just another psycho killer. There was supernatural bad crawling the scrapes of the earth, but there was also human bad, like this reported inmate. Sam was just about to throw out the file, but ceased thinking that when he read through the case, learning that a only a few days after Arnold had been brought in, the place burned down in a mysterious fire. When Arnold was brought into the morgue from the crime scene, his body was barely distinguishable, no-one could even be sure it was him, but the body was retrieved from his cell and still bore some sort of resemblance. The two medics who had brought him in examined his body thoroughly, run some tests, and the cops took a few pictures. Pictures which displayed a falayed and crisply burnt body falling apart- but odly enough, in one of the pictures of Arnie's body, he had an imprint on his forearm. A symbol of sorts. 

The case had been closed five years ago, the court diminishing trial but Sam managed to slip away with the file having bid the sheriff goodbye. That night he and Dean called in Cas for some help. He couldn't do much out of lack of knowledge of what the imprint meant or what it was related to, but all he coudl tell for now was that it was biblical, stating he had seen it somewhere undisclosed in his mind before. They continued working the the case and while talking to a few gargoyle angels in the city, the angel managed to report back to the Winchesters with news of Arnold, stating that while it wasn't direct, it was still valid as he reported a young man- his nephew-  he was usually seen traveling the streets of Manhattan with who was alive, usually in a certain diner somewhere downtown where they had breakfast on most occasions. He was a regular at the diner even without his uncle, and had seemingly befriended most of it's staff, although he kept his distance, not making any real ties. He only ever spoke of things like the weather, sports- insignificant things, so it was going to be hard even holding a conversation with this guy, but the angel disclosed more, reporting a lady who was at the trial when Arnold was sentenced to prison, and left town the week after She was the only persona from the trial who Nehemiah had seen wandering the streets who was actually there that day. She fled town after being brought in as a suspect for the arson case at the prison, but had been seen wandering the streets just recently. Sam and Dean took what Cas gave them, packed up their things and were planning on heading off to New York the following week, leaving the angel to continue examining the vics' bodies which were still being brought in.

"You got the location?" Dean asked, trailing his fingers along the title indented in the leather cover of the book.

"Cas texted me the address." Replied Sam, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone as he read out the message, "Turing Drive, block 5O8. Said that Mrs. Denver's sister has been seen on that street a few times."

"Well lets get going then," the elder Winchester announced, getting out from his seat and grabbing the book before placing it under his arm, but Sam stopped him with his hand, unsure that they should barge into the cafe just like that without any knowledge of what was awaiting them. The younger Winchester was always more critical with his approach of the two, and knew that his elder brother's way would usually come with consequences he couldn't bear.

"Uh, Dean- don't you think we should at least know who to look for?" he asked, his hand finding it's way back to his side.

"We do- the lady from the trial and Arnie's nephew." the green-eyed hunter replied, putting the book down as he reached for his jacket.

"Yeah, but where will even find this girl Dean?" pointed Sam.

"We'll ask around, talk to a few locals, visit the nearby bars and restaurants. It's not that hard, Sammy." Dean replied, shrugging on his coat and picking up the book once again. Grabbing his keys he turned to his brother who was already sold on leaving with him, but was making sure he was thorough.

"I know but- this girl was brought in as one of the people cops thought burnt the place down and thereafter fled town." Sam licked his lips, glaring at his brother, "we're not even sure she's still around. And the kid could be anywhere in the city: it's Manhattan."

Reaching into his pockets, dean retrieved his FBI badge, examined it and placed it back before walking out the room.

"Trust me, Sammy. We'll find them." eh shouted back, and the younger Winchester followed sourly.

 _*Now*_  
\-----------------------------------  


Lynn fumbled with her tongue in her mouth as it appeared to have gotten a lot heavier all of a sudden, staring back and forth between the two men and tried to utter a response.

"Excuse me?"she said, confusion over riding her features. Both agents seemed a bit taken back by her response, and the shorter of the two- agent miller- tried to repeat himself.

"Uhm, I'm agent Miller, this is my collegue agent Collins," The shorter of the men spoke, but the onyx haired girl didn't seem to interested in the introduction and cut straight to business.

"Why are you here?" She inquired with her brow knitting on instinct from the disarrayed state of her mind, both men gaped at her with wide eyes. Lynn could tell by their expressions that she had disoriented whatever 'normal' approach to peole they usually had, but knew that the time to dwell on her actions was in the near future. Now she was paying attention to what words were coming out of agent Collins mouth as he took the mic.

"Uhm, miss,we're FBI and we're here to-," as the brown-haired man towering over both her and his partner in height tried to vocalize his statement, Lynn interupted him.

"No, I know who you are, agents.I'm not daft," She cautiously begun, heart in her throat as she scrutinized both officers,"What I want to know, is what are you doing here- in Manhattan? That part I didn't get."

Both men, obviously a bit taken back by the waitress' actions, tried to answer her question, talking over each other in attempt and rushing their words until Agent collins' eyes turned to her as he reached into the front pocket of his coat. He retrieved a tawny and faded newspaper strip which had been folded and tucked away and placed it onto the counter.

Lynn stared intently at the large man towering over her, and reached her hand over to his side of the counter to pull it closer.

"Sanctum case back in '05," Agent miller stated from the side of his partner, staring at her solemnly. Lynn merely pulled the piece of paper up to her eyes as she read the headline.

_Local Entrepreneur Arnold Morris arrested for murder of Patricia and Roy Deren and illegal possession of firearms.Morris and his people sentenced to ten year imprisonment after Sister of the deceased Patricia Deren files case a few weeks after her sister's death. Court case scheduled for November._

It was silent, and had Lynn not heard the clatter of one of the plates Brady was washing fall to the ground and shatter, she would've remained silent for more than the already wasted eleven seconds. Her eyes which had appeared to be glued to the paper in her hands immediately skittered to the busboy kneeling by the sink as he picked up the shards of the dish. She could tell by his skittish and rigid movements that Brady was still irked over their little conversation prior the arrival of the FBI. He never really took conflict too well seeing as his growing up environment wasn't all that stable. She had learned that about him throughout their time working together whenever he would get jittery when the manager called him out for his poor punctuality, and he would begin fidgeting about and whinnying about the double standards of the café which only Lynn laugh the more. At first it only came in handy for laughs and giggles over Marilyn's little attacks on the brunette which happened quite often, but over time it had also come to be extremely salient for Lynn in finding out what was going on in Brady's head. She soon learned that when his mind was flaring with distraught or grief, his hands and feet were constantly in motion, causing different kinds of accidents to fall through. He had even once jabbed a fork in his own hand at dinner with his Uncle Russel at his uncle's mention of his unpaid student loans, and she could tell now his current mood was no different than that of that night.

Lynn remained staring at Brady. She was then just about to rush to his side to help him clean up the mess, when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" asked agent Miller, gripping his fingers onto the fabric of Lynn's shirt. She quickly turned around to face him.

"Yeah, I'm fine..sorry about," she said in a more alive and chipper tone as the agent retracted his hand, but viscerally Lynn knew that what she was far from it.

It was all so alien for her to even associate herself with her past now. She had moved away, got a new job, and started a new life with a new name, and over the years she had come to forget about her broken childhood by telling herself that she needn't pity herself- reminding herself every morning that many people had it just as bad if not worse. And as Lynn went on with her life, she found that she had truly come the closest to normal life she could ever have, and was genuinely happy. But with the two men standing in front of her declaring that they wanted to speak to her about the death of her parents and more so the death of the man who killed them, she knew that she'd trigger some sort of attachment to her past that she had no desire to have if she did say anything about the case. She knew that even if it did start out small, trauma was always a hard thing to run away from, and feared it would eventually spiral out of control- but she also knew just as well; she was strong, and in her stubborn and persistent ways, the grey-eyed girl always found a way to worm her way out of a sticky situation.

Her mind was at war knowing that when taken for interrogation, the bigger part of her- the one that thought she could handle it- would decide to re-open that chapter of her life out of greatly ambitious assumptions . That she'd manage to revisit all those memories and past events and come back sane without a scratch on her conscience- but on the other end, she feared she was always too ambitious, and that would be always be the cause of her downfall.

_Manhattan Federal Facility burns down in tragic fire. 71 Survivors, 15 causualities, the rest declared dead._

"Uhm, yeah..." she muttered almost to herself, and the two gentlemen exchanged weary looks. Lynn didn't mind their critical eyes though, and tried her best to fathom what was going on at the moment.

Arnie's name was ever since foreign to the raven-haired girl after the incident, and hearing it bellowed out in the open by two police officers with a mention of following deaths in the area made her blood run cold on spot. She wasn't scared, or worried, or frightened out of her wits,- but Lynn was merely curious as to why all of this was happening. Why were the feds here about the man who killed her parents? She didn't have much time to delve into her thoughts because of the stares coming from both agents, so Lynn decided the best thing to do at the moment was get rid of them, and for now not assosciate herself with the authorities until she was fully sorted out.

Lynn's fingers twitched at her side, and huffing to yourself she turned to both agents.

"Who sent you to me, officers?" She almost whispered as her eyes bounced between both men and her hand which was placed on the counter with the paper beneath it flexed in tension. 

The agent's stared at Lynn skeptically for a while as they examined her. If this girl was supposed to somehow give them a lead on this case, then they were going no-where, that they knew. She was being too stubborn to co-operate, and this only made their suspicion of what her role in all this was rise.

"The bureau, who else?" Agent Collins stated uncertainly. His partner remained silently watching the conversation at the side as he lightly drummed his fingers on the metal of the counter.

"I'm sorry officers, but unless this has anything to do with assorted cakes and condiments, I'm afraid I can't help you with this." she stated with disinterest in her dull grey eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She was oblivious of it, but Lynn's glove seemed to have rolled up a little from the contact and a bit of her wrist was now exposed, going unnoticed by everyone.

"Well we're not asking." Agent Miller declared sternly and Lynn turned to give him a glare as he continued "This is a federal investigation, so we're sorry, M'aam but you're going to have to comply." He triumphed. 

Agent Collins nudged his partner with his elbow and the blonde haired man rolled his eyes at the others antics, obviously thinking now not the time for chivalry

Lynn huffed in defeat and anxiously pulled her lip between her two teeth. Growing up on her own, she had learnt the rules of persuasion and how to get her way in a tight situation with all sorts of tricks, but she also knew that despite her attempts to sway the two men from interrogating her, this was a case she couldn't win. She tried to put on a tough and nonchalant bravado about the whole situation, but her little mannerisms that slipped through the facade gave away how frightened and nervous she was internally, Agent Miller obviously picking up on these vibes. No surprise,Lynn thought. He's a fed, and she was merely a waitress with a knack in swindling herself a bit of cash- but nothing that could go unnoticed by this man's eye. She threw him some respect after all.

After wracking her mind and trying to come up with a verdict, Lynn then decided that it would be most wise for now to drop her act and at least in the smallest way possible co-operate with Agent's Collins and Miller. They probably were even still here with her because of how un-orthodox and odd she was reacting to their questions and the entire suspicious vibe she was giving off. She figured soon enough, they would take her up as a suspect and things would get even messier. After all, she was acting overly strange, even in her opinion. But then again, the whole situation that day was strange, and you couldn't really blame her.

She shut her eyes for a brief moment, gathering the spirits for what was coming next and turned to the more friendly and approachable of the agents, Agent Collins. The entire time they were there, Lynn couldn't help but notice how Agent Miller kept on staring at her like she had murdered someone in cold blood; but then again, for all they knew, she could have.

"I could help you officers with a little source of information for the time being, but only on one condition," She coaxed, crossing her arms tighter around her torso and Agent Miller's eyes which were rested on her sly and plotting expression suddenly drifted to her wrist.

"What would that be, miss- Crawford." he paused, eyes darting to her fake name tag. Lynn never noticed the blonde agent's eyes shift, and continued talking to the brown haired officer.

"I don't have to be the source." She announced and the diner was dead silent.

'This must be a joke' agent Collins thought.

"Look, miss, we understand if this is for some reason making you uncomfortable, but this is a federal case, and as declared by the law we are going to need you to co-operate,"Miller stated convincingly, but Lynn played him off, shaking her nod nonchalantly as he spoke.

"No, " she declared with a somber expression, "As we've both noticed, officer, this entire situation brings on discomfort to me. Not only is this investigation abrupt and conflicting with my work schedule- which should be reason enough for my decline- but excuse me if I don't want to be made feel like a criminal because the FBI have decided I should be the first person to provide them with information on a case closed nearly eight years ago."

By now, Lynn's grey embers were flaring with irritation as she stared down the two men infront of her in silence, hoping she was doing a good job in scaring them off. None of the two dared to speak for the first bit of it, and she saw that if she could squeeze out of this with the little sliver of hope she had left, she was home free. The silence was broken when Agent Miller cleared his throat roughly.

He opened his mouth to speak, and shutting it along with his eyes looking defeated, rasped his reply.

"Who's this source?" He asked solemnly which had seemed to have taken Agent collins - and Lynn as well to be honest- as he gaped at his partner incredulously.

"Dean, what are y-...." The brown-haired agent fumbled with his words. Agent Miller only shook his head dismissively at his partner and cocked an eyebrow at Lynn. She was honestly just as taken by surprise and stuttered her response.

"Uhm, it's Brady over there," She affirmed shakily, jerking a thumb behind her. 

In the back, another loud crash was heard as Brady disposed of the shattered dishes in the dumpster and Lynn couldn't help but glance back to see what was going on. Luckily, there was no chaos in practice and the only seemingly threatening aspect of the entire situation was the little gash on the back of Brady's palm he was to tend to.

Agent Collins called out once again, obviously irritated by the conversation not going anywhere, and befuddled over why Lynn wasn't complying with the protocol. He had had some tough cases in the past, but none with someone so complex and stubborn.

"Look, miss, we don't know what you're getting at here but-......"

Agent Miller cut him off immediately though, as he took Lynn up on her offer, sliding the folded newspaper from flat under her palm.

"Get him over," he announced, tucking the paper into his coat. Lynn right away scrambled to the kitchen to grab Brady as both men turned on their heels and begun to make their way to a booth in the corner of the room.

"Dude, what the hell was that?Cas says that she's the only one who can get us a lead." Agent Collins bickered in whisper and Miller sighed aggitatedly. He slipped his way into the booth over to the window and tried to calm his partner down.

"Relax, man." He cooed, reaching out for a menu and flipping through it with interest "I know what I'm doing here- trust me."

Agent Collins scoffed in return and leaned back in his seat heavily, "Dean, it's  just...."

He let out a sigh of defeat while Dean's green  eyes jumped up from behind the menu ontohis brother's face, and back down to the panflet in his hands.

"Trust me....We got her."

 


	5. FIVE

Sam quirked a confused brow at his brother, and bit his lip. This couldn't be the girl they were looking for- the girl from the trial all those years back. At least Sam didn't believe it. Reported by the gargoyles whom they had spoken with, that girl had chestnut hair down to her back in large tube-like curls whereas this waitress' hair, much as it was coiled into big ringlets nestled on her head, was as black as onyx, breaching about one centimeter beyond her shoulders. She had bands falling over half of her face in a swoop of raven, and more so looked younger than the description castiel gave the Winchesters. Not only her appearance denied the notion that this was who they were looking for, but what made Sam check Lynn off the list the most was her very being in Manhattan, in this diner, at this moment. As reported by the angel, the lady from the trial had fled the city and had only been seen returning a few times before leaving once more, Lynn however seemed to have a regular long term job here meaning she most likely was also settled here. It all didn't add up.

Sam was skeptical, and not wanting to just jump into things when numerous people's lives were on the line, he decided it would be best to scan the city a bit more and learn more about the citizens before bombarding them with possibly false accusations. He and Dean would come back to the diner after they got a few more leads around Manhattan and could figure out her part in the whole situation. Sam knew there was no way this could be the girl- the woman, as Cas described- they were looking for, at least he thought she wasn't. There was a possibility she was part of the scandal with the random deaths- anyone was- but if at all she did, it was a minuscule role to play. That he was sure of- or at least tried to convince himself.

"What makes you think that this girl is even remotely related to the case, let alone with such a drastic role to play?" The younger Winchester asked, eyes reverting back to the counter where the two stood merely moments back. Dean put aside the menu, already memorizing his order for some key lime pie and black coffee and answered his brother.

"Because my gut tells me so, Sammy. She has something to do with this case- I can feel it." He said.

"Your gut?" Sam asked incredulously and Dean nodded, his no-nonsense expression twisting into place. He leaned back into his seat.

"You saw the way she was acting the entire time we were there? All nerves and no spine- the girl's got something to hide," he announced.

"Or maybe she was just nervous because she's never had any kind of federal interaction in her life? She could've just been spooked." Sam replied, returning his eyes to his brother's somber face, "We've handled those kinds of people tons of times, Dean- not everyone can handle your intimidation and sass like I can."

"Oh please, I tone it down on the job." Dean defended and Sam only chuckled, shaking his head.

"Yeah sure you do," he muttered and reached over to the other end of the table to grab the menu and peruse through it. Meanwhile, as Sam filed through the panflet, Dean's mind begun to wonder and he bit his lip. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe he was just over-thinking the most insignificant things in the case because he was so desperate for the lead. Lynn definitely knew something about Arnold somehow, but maybe she wasn't really playing the game much as observing it from the sidelines. Worked had him irked up of late with the other cases he and his brother handled, but with this one, he felt he was hitting rock bottom. He was tired. The mark of Cain imprinted on Dean's hand never made it easy for him to go about life and things kept on getting worse and worse in the past months as the Mark took over more and more. He got it about a month before the case begun, and everything seemed subjectively normal for the boys' lives, with nothing out of the ordinary as outcome of the mark, but as time regressed, things got worse and worse and to ignore its effects on him, Dean threw himself into work. He worked a few vamp nests all over the country, some salt and burns- the beginner's stuff- and it had helped at first, no doubt, but that changed with this case. It was a hard nut to crack, with little to no leads at all where he and Sam looked and with the sources they had. It was the first case in months to actually stump the elder Winchester completely; to make him feel powerless after all those successful and effortless hunts int he past months. And Dean was coming to realize tat maybe this wouldn't provide him with the sense of satisfaction that he craved; with the rush and life the Mark had drained from him. The past few weeks had been definitely been tough no matter how much Dean tried to deny it, and so maybe yes, with all the exhaustion, maybe he was looking too much into things, searching for any kind of lead to find out about Arnold Morris and all the Death's going on. Maybe Lynn wasn't the exact girl they were looking for, but Dean still had a feeling that she could at least get them some sort of lead. That's what he thought...

The green-eyed hunter dragged a hand along his stubbly jaw before speaking.

"I'll try not to jump to conclusions," he sighed before craning his neck to the side and finally spotting Lynn behind the counter with Brady at her side. They made their way over to the boys' table where they were adjusting themselves to their more official statures rather than those of slacking hunters in a diner as they formerly were.

Lynn awkwardly smiled as she came to a stop at the boys' table, jamming her hands in her pockets and just itching to get as far away from the boys as possible. She nudged an elbow into her friend's side, making him shoot her a brief death glare before averting his attention to the 'agent' in front of them.

"Agents,..." the brunette begun, nodding at either men, a gesture both Sam and Dean returned.

"Brady...Have a seat." Dean greeted as he gestured at the empty space aside his brother.

As Brady fixed himself into the booth, the elder Winchester's green eyes flickered over to Lynn who was standing by with her hands crossed over her chest.

"Thank you for your assistance," he chided, and the black-haired girl nodded nonchalantly.

"Sure thing," she replied and gently drummed her fingers on her arms, "Can I get you officers anything?"

"Coffee- black, for the both of us, and a slice of your key lime pie." the blonde-haired hunter advised, but Sam shot him a glare from across the table as Lynn scribbled down the orders onto he notepad.

"I'll have a coffee too," Brady added while Dean raised his eyebrow at Sam who just rolled his eyes.

"Uhm, excuse my partner he always puts his stomach before his mind even on a job," Sam smiled at the waitress, leaving his brother staring on in confusion.

"We'll just have the coffee- we won't be here too long hopefully, thanks." He instructed, and she nodded, glancing at Dean who was wearing an obvious scowl on his face. They had been driving all morning and had the chance to grab a bite here at this diner but Sam had to ruin everything with his efficiency. Dean definitely put his stomach before his mind in cases like these, but with his little brother denying him meals, he was ready to start putting his fist to Sammy's jaw instead.

"Alright then...Your coffee will be right up." Lynn forced a smile. Stuffing the notepad in her pocket, while Sam said something to Brady and Dean rolled his eyes. Picking up the menus, she turned on her heel to return to the kitchen in hurry, but felt a warm hand grip her arm in the process. It was just above the sleeve of her glove, and the contact made Lynn's eyes go wide right away from fear of having her arm exposed.

The black-haired waitress shot around to find the elder Winchester who was sneaking a quick glance at his chattering brother, and she jerked her arm away immediately, a prominent frown forming on her lips. Luckily, the glove remained in place, and she was safe, but on top of such a close call, Dean was staring at her, and she feared that he could sense how much panic was filled in that minuscule fraction of time whereby her skin was nearly naked.

"What?" she quipped. She was probably being ruder than needed, but the whole morning had taken a toll on Lynn, and having someone have seen her wrist would've been catastrophic- she had at least a bit of right to be agitated.

Dean seemed to have not caught the crass tone in the waitress' voice, or he frankly didn't care- but he went about his order in a normal whisper tone like nothing had just happened.

"I'll be having the pie after all." He whispered. Lynn clamped her lips together into a straight line and nodded.

"I'll bring it by in a bit." She spurted before ambling back to the counter and disappearing into the kitchen, leaving the three men together at their booth. She was trying to be as fast as she could to get away from the two agents, and with Brady distracting them, now was her chance to escape.

Once Lynn disappeared from the room, more customers begun filing into the diner and Brady leaned over the table, staring at Dean as he spoke.

"So officers, what exactly is it you want from me?" he said, arching his eyebrow. Dean adjusted himself in his seat, cleared his throat and spoke.

"Tell us what you know about Arnold Morris, deceased Autumn 2008..."

Lynn scrambled to the back of the kitchen where her bag and coat were hung by the exit and lacing them both around her body in their respective places, tucked her keys away in the pocket of her ebony black leather jacket. She checked the stove, making sure all the tops were off and no kettles were spurting liquids from their nozzles, got all the clean dishes out of the wash before stacking them on the counter and tried to make sure that everything in the diner was in place before she left.

Lynn's day had gotten off with a rough start with the FBI coming in and the bruises on her forearm evident with pain throughout the morning as her nerves were all around wracked. The previous night she had gone to bed without cleaning the cuts on her skin, her judgement fogged by sleep making her think it unimportant, and was now suffering the whole day with an intense gnawing pain at the surface of her arm She had tried to ignore the frustration her wounds were causing her on the way to work seeing as they weren't buzzing with life as much, but as time passed the ache got stronger and stonger. Merely a few minutes back, it had gotten too much for Lynn to handle and she was dreading even getting out of bed to come to work. She just wanted to be away from the buzzing of Manhattan that early, and the FBI's arrival had only stressed the poor waitress out more, even when she thought things really couldn't get any worse. When Lynn realized that she could be the subject of the interrogation at the mention of Arnold only a few moments back, her heart dropped to her toes, and she realized that after all these years of running her past might have been catching up with her.

She knew she was being a bit paranoid, over-thinking every each and one of things that happened the moment both Men in suits stepped into the diner and brought up her parents murder, but you could never be too careful. Just to be sure nothing in her life was at stake, Lynn decided to make a break for it while both agents were occupied with Brady, grabbing her jacket and sneaking out through the backdoor after leaving them their coffee She decided that having taken the day off, she could at least get some nice rest and relaxation from the past week and maybe tend to her wounds. Anything to get her mind off of things for even the smallest bit and 'before she knew it, things would be better' as she told herself as she scurried out the building from the back door, locking it tight. It was raining when she got out, and a small drop of water splashed onto her pink nose when she got out. The heel of her boot hit the soggy tarmac of alley she stood in, producing a squelching sound from beneath her foot and after throwing on her hood, Lynn begun to stride out of the alley and onto the bright and lively streets of New York.

*Back at the diner*

Brady sipped gingerly on his tepid coffee as the hazel-eyed man at his side asked him another one of their 'standard interrogation' questions which they had been drawing answers out of him for the past twenty minutes.

"So how did you know Mr. Morriss exactly?" Sam- or Agent Collins as he introduced himself as- asked, glancing around the room as more and more customers begun to come in, leaving almost all the booths and seats occupied.

"I didn't, per se." Brady explained, taking a sip of his drink and scratching his stubble when some slipped onto his jaw, "I just knew him as one of the local entrepreneurs. New York's pretty huge, so you don't exactly know majority of your neighbors, but this guy moved around quite a lot for work and even dropped by the diner some times."

"How often did he drop by?" asked Sam.

"Not too often; maybe once every two or three weeks for just a little bit. He never really sat down for a meal or anything. He would just come in here to meet up with his son and maybe give him some cash from time to time." He replied.

"Morriss had a son?" Dean asked from across the table and the brown-haired man nodded.

"Well no actually- his nephew, Josh. He'd call him his 'ol' boy' at first whenever they came in for breakfast, so we just kind of assumed he was his dad at first, but later on we talked to the kid, and found out he was his nephew." Brady explained, "Told us that he had no parents and was being supported by his uncle Morriss, so he kind of adopted the nickname "old boy" seeing as he was kind of like his surrogate son... At least that's what he told us."

"How old is the kid?" Sam asked, the brunette waiter slurping up his coffee with thirst from talking.

He placed it down on the table before answering Sam "Not much younger than me I think... 24 or so."

"And how often did he come in without his uncle?"

"About every week," Brady answered solemnly, "Got the same order every time; French toast with Greek yoghurt on the side and black coffee."

Dean sat up straight in his seat all of sudden before saying "Well you sure are precise."

"Well I like to pay attention." Brady commented and the elder Winchester couldn't help but roll his eyes at the snarkiness. He never liked competition.

Both men were silent, exchanging glances with one another as Brady watched before he cleared his throat and spoke, "So can I get back to work now?"

"I think we're done here." Dean declared. All three men stood on their feet, and having bid Sam and Dean Goodbye, Brady returned to his shift at the cashier, finding Marie one of the other employees almost pulling her hair out from tending to the customers on her own.

Both Winchesters shuffled out of the booth orderly and were making their way to the door when Sam stopped in his tracks, and clicked his tongue distastefully, making his elder brother turn around.

"What is it?" The elder Winchester asked, his hand which wasn't in his pocket coming up to gesture to his brother.

Sam let out a heavy sigh, "Forgot to pay for the coffee." He announced, retrieving his wallet from the pocket of his coat and making his way to the counter to pay. Dean stayed by the door waiting to leave the diner while Sam paid Brady for the coffee's at the counter.

The elder Winchester remained observing the scene before him from the sidelines, waiting for his brother with impatience and want to go home, when Marie suddenly appeared from the kitchen. She came up to the counter a few feet away from Brady by the assortments on display. Lifting the lid of one of the trays, she picked out a piece of key lime pie and placed it on the plate before covering the tray and taking the order to its table at the end of the room. Dean's brow slowly knitted together and the cogs in his mind started to turn treacherously at his new realization... where was she?

Sam was already turning back and coming towards the door. The boys both exited the diner, their boots splashing in the shallow puddles outside as they strolled over to the Impala parked alongside the road.

The clouds in the sky swirled and twisted into grey dreary masses above head, and from the heavy winds gushing through her hair her entire walk home on top of the eiry and dull weather, Lynn could tell that it was going to rain once more in only a few minutes. Lynn skipped across the dripping pavement and up to the doorstep of her building, jamming the key into the lock and jimmying it in place in attempt to bust it open. The lock had been jacked up for as long as she could remember from a burglary that happened just before she moved in, and she had never bothered to get it fixed. She had talked with Al her landlord numerous times about fixing it out of fear of her own safety, but he would always assure her that she was in good hands and that since the floor was practically flooded with people in every room, nothing could go down.

The door trembled in its frame shakily, making Lynn curse under breath before pressing her palm flat against the corner by the frame, collecting some air in her lungs, and giving it a firm push as she turned the key. To her relief, the door popped open with a loud crackle and the black haired waitress stumbled into the apartment, holding herself up on a nearby table.

"Piece of crap," She muttered under hear breath, eyeing the door as she shut it before kicking off her boots and heading into the kitchen for some water.

She dragged her socks along the cold tiles of her floor over to the fridge before grabbing a bottle of water and returning to the living room and flopping onto the couch. The rain outside continued to pour down in heavy streams and flood the streets, and Lynn enjoyed nothing more. Rainy afternoons were always a favorite of hers, spending them either at home with Brady or going out with her friends from music school to grab a bite. Unfortunately for her, today, no matter how cold it got or how much the wind whistled through the air, Lynn's wrist was getting the best of her and started to get sore.

She decided it would be best to clean up the cuts and bruises now that she was home, and since she wasn't going to let the day go to waste, marathon some netflix afterwards and selflessly indulge in copious amounts of icecream. Indeed the day had given her a spook and she was on edge ever since morning, but with her mind buzzing like a wasps nest with all sorts of thoughts on the interaction with the police, Arnold and her wrist- sulking and wracking her brains for a solution would do nothing seeing as she had too much on her mind. The day would go to waste, and all she would gain would be the stress of having to push those problems to the next day without a solution. The least she could do now was clear her head, and relax a little.

Getting up from her sloth-position on the couch, Lynn padded her feet back to the kitchen to dispose of the empty bottle of water, and scan the fridge for some remnants of the Creambelle ice-cream she always kept tucked away at the buck of the freezer for safe keeping. Rummaging through the assortments of groceries, she finally spotted the golden and black packaging the in the back and snagged it out, opening it to serve herself when she realized that the container was empty, with nothing but little scrapes of oreo on the sides of the tin.

No ice cream meant that Lynn had to run to the store to grab some, which she was in no mood for, but she had no other choice. She tossed the empty container into the bin, mumbling profanities to herself before heading into the living-room, grabbing her jacket, and stepping out the front door into the heavy downpour of the day.


End file.
